


Kitty

by ultragirlvfr750



Series: Reboot The Closer [3]
Category: The Closer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultragirlvfr750/pseuds/ultragirlvfr750
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of my Reboot the Closer series.  Deleted scene from Season 1 - episode 3 - The Big Picture.<br/>This is also my prompt for The Closer FicFest 2 - from Prompt Number 13 - Brenda shows up on Sharon's doorstep in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitty

**Author's Note:**

> Mea Culpa - the dialogue in the first scene is ripped directly from the last frames of S1-Ep3. TNT please don't sue - I'll put Brenda, Fritz and Sharon back where I found them when I'm done playing. It's my mission to re-write Sharon Raydor into every episode of the Closer and this is my version of what happened after Brenda coaxes Kitty with the cat treats.

Brenda Leigh Johnson stood in the kitchen of her new house, a house she’d only taken possession of the day before and already she was having a difficult conversation. Why was it that Fritz Howard could be so maddening? Yes she’d used him, and granted she’d run roughshod over the FBI’s investigation into the Russian mafia but why couldn’t he simply understand that she’d had to interrogate that cocky little piece of low-level scum? Nick Koslov deserved, no, he’d needed to be punished for what he’d done to those poor young women. And FBI case be damned, Brenda hadn’t been about to let him skate away. She’d made it her mission to wipe the smirk off his face. For good.

In the end he hadn’t been smirking. In the end the look of terror in his eyes told her all she needed to know about what was about to happen next. She recognized it was probably a character flaw that she couldn’t find it anywhere within herself to feel guilty about how things were about to turn out for the bastard. It hadn’t been her job to worry about what would happen after Nick Koslov left her custody. It was her job to get justice for Zoya Petrovna. And that’s what she’d done, consequences be damned.

She sighed. Unfortunately, Nick turning up dead had led directly to the very uncomfortable conversation she now had to have with Fritz Howard. And it pained her because she felt as though Fritz was her friend. Perhaps her only friend in a sea of officers in her own squad who made no secret of the fact that they held her at arms length in varying levels of distrust. Just because she’d ripped up their requests to transfer back to Robbery Homicide didn’t mean any of them really wanted to work under her. She figured David Gabriel would come around faster than the others. But even he had a barely veiled look of contempt on his face every time she got in the car and he was forced to chauffeur her back and forth from the crime scenes she insisted on visiting, in a city she had no idea how to navigate. 

Brenda very much wanted to keep Fritz on her good side, she’d even found him a customs and immigration officer ready and willing to replace Nick but as she gave him this information his face remained stony and she realized that perhaps it wouldn’t be enough.

“Look, it wasn’t my job to protect Nick Koslov,” she explained, “it was my job to seek justice for the victims, the teenage girls.”

“You know what,” Fritz replied, looking everywhere but at her, “maybe we shouldn’t, uh, talk about work for awhile.”

Brenda paused, and watched his expression. She knew him well enough to know that he was angry, perhaps more angry with her than he’d ever been and that whatever tentative foray into friendship she’d made with him was, at the moment, hanging by a thread.

“Ok,” she nodded trying to catch his eyes. Challenging him. “What do you want to talk about?”

He stared at her then, his expression softening and Brenda realized too late what that look might mean and she resisted the urge to shake her head. 

Why was it always so complicated between them?

“I’ll let you know, Brenda,” he replied and she nodded, narrowing her eyes but refusing to drop his gaze.

“You mind if I take that?” Fritz gestured to the file folder on Danny Booth and Brenda smiled, happy to be back on a more solid, business-like footing. She awkwardly handed him the paperwork and then moved back to lean against the counter.

From behind her she heard a pitiful meow and the mangy cat, Zoya Petrovna’s cat, the cat that unfortunately came along with the house streaked through the kitchen and hurled itself into the living room.

“Damn,” Brenda exclaimed, her arms crossed over her chest, “the pound was supposed to pick ‘im up.”

Fritz just stared at her as he pushed himself away from the stove, tapping the file folder against his palm.

“That’s what I love about you Brenda,” he said with an ironic smile, “that sentimental heart of yours.”

Brenda stared after him as he strode toward the front door trying desperately to think up a come-back, her mind temporarily blank. She wished fervently that Sharon Raydor was with her. While her experience with the FID Captain was limited to a glass of wine, an accidental kiss and a playful dinner at Brenda’s hotel, a dinner that coincidentally had started off as drinks with Fritz Howard, she already knew that Sharon would have come up with an equally ironic comment to shoot at the back of the departing FBI Agent.

Loneliness blew through her and for a moment the new house, Fritz’s frustration, her squad, the impossibility of the damn cat seemed utterly overwhelming and Brenda longed suddenly to be sitting across from the stylish Captain watching as the brunette unconsciously fingered a lock of her hair, a stiletto dangling lazily from one foot, gazing into moss green eyes that were warm but so often unreadable.

Fritz left without looking back and Brenda stood in a show-down with the cat. It just lay on the carpet lashing its tail against the floor. If it was possible for an animal to look reproachful this one was doing a bang up job.

“Oh all right. All right.” she huffed, giving in, leaning down to rummage through the cupboard in front of her. “She must have left some food for you somewhere.”

She found what seemed to be a container of cat treats and shook it in a way that she hoped sounded inviting.

“Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,” she gave the animal her best smile. The one she reserved for her unsuspecting murderers just before she put the hammer down. “Yeah come on……”

She moved toward the cat slowly, shaking the treats, trying not to make any fast movements. She didn’t want the damn thing making a bolt for the door. Brenda figured with her luck it would streak away and lodge itself behind the stove or the fridge and she’d be stuck listening to it howling until she could find someone to drag her appliances back from the wall. And as pissed off as he was, she didn’t think she could count on Fritz.

“You can trust me,” her voice was all honey and southern charm.”

Shake shake shake went the cat treats as Brenda closed in.

“Come on,” she put the treats down and the stupid animal nosed toward them. 

She shot out her arms and scooped the furry thing up with both hands, holding it away from her body as if it were a snake.

“GOTCHA!”

The cat hissed and squirmed but Brenda held on. The sake of her sanity depended on it. She duck-walked the hissing fur ball all the way to the laundry room, dropped it unceremoniously onto the tile floor, happy to see that it did indeed land on it’s feet, slammed the door and leaned against it.

“He’s not my cat, and besides havin’ a sentimental heart is overrated Agent Howard,” she called out even though it was pointless. Fritz was long gone and she was stuck in a house with a dead prostitute’s cat clawing at her laundry room door. Sure enough it had started to howl.

———————————————————————————————————---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time she strode up the front walk of Sharon’s low slung bungalow Brenda had to admit she was desperate. And desperation was not a state that Brenda wore well. Consequently, she not only stabbed at the doorbell repeatedly, listening through clenched teeth at the hollow bell chiming in the house beyond, but when the FID Captain didn’t immediately appear Brenda took to pounding on the door with one fist, the makeshift container holding the mewling, struggling cat she had come to think of as NoNoBadKitty, swinging from her other hand.

The door finally swung wide to reveal a bleary-eyed Sharon Raydor squinting through her black framed glasses, purple satin robe hastily thrown over her shoulders, open at the waist to reveal a matching satin slip. Even in her befuddled state Brenda noted it showed off a surprising amount of the Captain’s toned legs as she barrelled past her into the foyer, propelling the squirming cat in front of her in a death grip.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Sharon, thank God,” her words coming out in a rush “Y’all have no idea how long it took me to figure out how to get here. And I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. I really am but between the Russian mob takin’ care of Nick Koslov, me screwin’ up the FBI’s case and makin’ Fritzi look bad in front of God knows, well, everybody, and losin’ him his informant, I am not number one of his list of people he wants to see right now. And, oohhhh, the pound was supposed to come and get this thing,” she heaved the cloth container holding the cat around for good measure eliciting another howl from inside. 

“Brenda,” Sharon tried to interject but the blonde kept rattling on as if the Captain didn’t exist.

“They didn’t show up so this dead girl’s, dead prostitute actually, I ended up with this dead girl’s house which is the good news because livin’ in that hotel was makin’ me crazy, but it seems I’m stuck with her cat until someone comes to pick it up. I tried lockin’ it in the laundry room but he will not stop howlin’ for love or money and since I obviously can’t call Fritzi…..”

“Brenda.” Sharon barked, hands on her hips. “Chief Johnson stop talking immediately!”

“…you’re my last resort,” she trailed off lamely, completely out of breath.

“Last resort?” Sharon’s voice had taken on a dangerously low tone and Brenda realized too late that in her rush to explain why she felt it necessary to descend on Sharon at going on one am that perhaps she had made a blunder or two. Maybe three.

Sharon moved toward Brenda, the satin of her robe swishing against her thighs, her hair a riot of chocolate waves tumbling across her shoulders. She hitched the slender belt higher on her waist and her slip, along with a generous amount of her cleavage disappeared from view.

Brenda was suddenly aware of the fact that her own hair was in two sloppily composed braids, her blonde curls already springing free of the loose plaits, and she was clad in an ancient pink sweatshirt with the slogan Atlanta -What is the world Coming To? emblazoned across the front, and baggy flannel pyjama bottoms covered in stylized red crustaceans with the pithy phrase "crabby pants" scrawled haphazardly up and down the legs. On her feet, rounding out the ensemble, were cork wedge heels. They were the closest footwear to the door when she'd taken flight with NoNoBadKitty.

Sharon scanned her up and down, her withering look turning to puzzlement. She stretched out her hand and for a moment Brenda thought she was going to tweak one of her braids just like her Daddy used to when she was ten years old.

"Putting aside for the moment your exceedingly garbled version of what I am assuming are the events of the last twenty-four hours and staying completely present to the task at hand, Brenda, did you seriously haul a cat over here in a pillow case?”

Brenda simply stared at her, a crimson flush blooming across her cheeks.

Sharon snapped her fingers and gestured.

"Brenda, it's one in the morning. Cat. Pillow case. Now.”

Brenda silently handed the squirming, mewling bundle off to the FID captain and watched, fascinated, as Sharon hefted the bulk of the animal under one arm and gently peeled back the cloth at the top of the opening, crooning nonsense words, her hair falling forward, obscuring her face.

She gradually pulled the terrified feline out of its cloth prison and placed it gently on the ground. The cat immediately took off down the hall, it's claws skittering in the hardwood floor as it slid around the corner out of sight.

Sharon stood up and sighed, pinching at the bridge of her nose.

"Clearly this hasn't been a great day for you."

“It was better than the FBI’s,” Brenda retorted, “until I came home and found out the pound forgot to come pick up that damn furball. Spent my entire evenin’ listenin’ to it howl and tear things apart.”

“So you shoved it in a pillow case?” Sharon countered. "Inventive. And you thought to come here because?....."

Her hands were back on her hips, her eyes like agates boring into Brenda. Too late, the blonde realized she'd effectively backed herself into a corner. She tried a smile and then bit her bottom lip.

“Somehow I was your last resort given you'd managed to alienate the one person in Los Angeles you consider a friend?" Sharon saved her the trouble of a response. “Agent Howard. Fritzi…..” She drew his name out and quirked her eyebrows.

“I don’t..I figured you’d know what to do,” Brenda mumbled, “Fritzi’s just Fritzi and besides I don’t really think of you as a friend.” the words were out of her mouth before she realized she'd said them.

“Interesting,” Sharon’s face was stony. “And yet here you are.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Sharon, that’s not what I meant,” Brenda twisted her hands together in front of her, “I meant…” she took a breath. “Can I start over?”

“Between ruining things for the Russian mafia, pissing off Agent Howard and terrorizing an animal by hauling it around in a sack in the middle of the night I can’t imagine how starting over could possibly fix things but I’m keen to see you try.”

Sharon’s expression hadn’t changed but there was a hint of humour in her voice and Brenda breathed a sigh of relief.

“Would you like to sit down?” Sharon gestured toward what looked like a very comfortable sofa and Brenda gratefully toed off her sandals, padded into the living room and flopped down on the couch, instinctively drawing her feet under her to sit cross legged.  
For her part, Sharon perched herself at the other end, legs pressed together, rather primly Brenda thought, but she did nothing to hide the expanse of her thighs left uncovered by the short, satin robe and Brenda felt her face flush again as she yanked her gaze back to the Captain’s face. The mild expression in her eyes and the half smile playing at the corner of her mouth made it clear to Brenda she’d been caught staring. 

Brenda picked at the hem of her sweatshirt, trying to gather her thoughts. She wasn’t all together sure why she’d decided to descend on Sharon in the middle of the night other than the fact that at some point earlier in the evening she’d reached the end of her patience listening to the mewling and scratching coming from behind the laundry room door. Fritz had been wrong. She might not be sentimental but she did have a heart and the pitiful sounds emanating from the tiny creature upset her. Upset her in a way that watching Nick Koslov walk out of her murder room and toward his death had not. Perhaps because Brenda couldn’t help but imagine Zoya making similar sounds in the aftermath of being beaten. Being used. Ultimately making those same sounds at the end of her short life.

She’d just wanted the damn cat to stop crying.

She’d just wanted to stop missing Atlanta and her mother’s home cooking.

She’d just wanted to stop pretending for a moment that she was fine with the fact that she was hated by everyone she worked with.

If she were honest what she’d really wanted was to simply bury her head in Sharon Raydor’s chest and have herself a damn good cry. And she wasn’t sure why, other than there was something about the woman with the moss green eyes, quiet, calm strength and don’t-fuck-with-me attitude that was mesmerizing to Brenda.

“I closed my case,” she said quietly finally raising her head to look at Sharon, “undeniably it probably cost someone his life but I got justice for a bunch of girls who had no one to speak for them, who couldn’t speak for themselves.”

Sharon nodded and Brenda continued.

“I might have lost a friend in the process.”

“Agent Howard,” Sharon stated.

“He’ll probably get over me runnin’ roughshod all over his investigation and makin’ him look foolish in front of his colleagues but all the same it’s hard to miss things. People. Hard to be disliked.”

Sharon moved closer to the diminutive Deputy Chief and gently placed her hand over Brenda’s. Brenda shuddered imperceptibly at the touch and willed herself not to move even closer.

“Women in our positions are always disliked, Chief,” Sharon’s voice was gentle but she grinned as she used the blonde’s rank and Brenda couldn’t help but return the smile.

“I just wanted the damn cat to stop crying,” she continued, “I figured you’d probably know what to do. It seems like you’d know what to do……and I just wanted to be with someone I like. Who likes me. At least I hope you do,” Brenda realized she was rambling.

“You were the person I wanted to see,” she finished, cocking he head to one side.

“Not Fritzi?” There was an impish look in Sharon’s eyes.

“Fritzi’s a friend. That’s easy,” Brenda replied, placing her other hand on top of Sharon’s. Gripping it hard. “You’re more complicated.”

“And why is that…..do you think?” Sharon slid closer until her bare thigh was touching Brenda’s knee. 

Brenda clenched her jaw and inhaled. Hell if the woman wasn’t going to make her say it.

“Because ever since that night, in the bar, when we first met, and I kissed you to get rid of that ridiculous jackass,” she paused, “I’ve wanted to do it again.”

“Do what?” Sharon’s face was inches from Brenda’s, close enough the blonde could smell the vanilla on her skin. 

“Damnit, Sharon,” Brenda breathed, “Are you always this maddenin’ly obtuse?”

Sharon smiled, lifting her hands to slowly remove her glasses, placing them on the low table in front of the sofa.

“Not usually, “ her voice was husky, “but then I don’t usually have a desperate Deputy Chief in braids and flannel pyjamas land on my doorstep in the middle of the night needing to be rescued from her own cat.”

“It’s not my cat.”

“You know what they say,” Sharon reached out and trailed her knuckles lightly across Brenda’s cheekbone, “possession is nine-tenths of the law. That kitten belongs to you now.”

Before Brenda could argue Sharon placed her index finger over the blonde’s mouth. She shifted closer, her other hand at Brenda’s waist. She lazily ran the pad of her thumb across Brenda’s lower lip, caressing it lightly, then with more force and Brenda felt a surge of desire spread through her belly, a dull throbbing between her legs. 

Sharon bent her head and ghosted her lips across Brenda’s, her kiss like a whisper against the younger woman’s mouth. Brenda groaned, her fingers winding in Sharon’s hair, pulling her closer, pressing her lips more firmly against the brunette’s, her tongue darting tentatively inside. 

The Captain responded by deepening their kiss, flicking her tongue against Brenda’s, exploring, tasting, touching.

Brenda allowed her head to fall back as Sharon bit gently at her bottom lip and then trailed kisses across her jawline, down the column of her neck in an exact reversal of their first encounter. 

With no subterfuge necessary and no reason to stop Sharon sucked at Brenda’s pulse point, her fingers lightly tracing small circles under the Deputy Chief’s sweatshirt, Brenda squirmed, shivered and held her breath as Sharon grazed the palm of her hand gently over the swell of the younger woman’s breast, pausing only for moment before she rolled the taut nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

Brenda made a strangling cry in the back of her throat, a cry that she thought, abstractly, sounded remarkably like the one the kitty had made while trapped in the bag.

Her own hands were fumbling for the satin tie on Sharon’s robe, pulling at the slippery fabric.

She pushed Sharon gently against the back of the couch, dropping her own lips to kiss the hollow of the brunette’s throat. She was overwhelmed once again by the taste of vanilla and musk as she pulled at the top of Sharon’s slip, emboldened by the older woman’s response. She bit at the soft flesh of the swell of Sharon’s breast before claiming the hardened, dark nipple in her mouth, nipping at it with her teeth before sucking, hard. She felt another surge of wetness flood the apex of her thighs as Sharon thrust her hips upward, seeking Brenda’s heat.

Brenda could feel Sharon’s frustration at the flimsy, satin barrier between them and she cursed herself for her poor clothing choice of a sweatshirt and flannel pyjama pants. Reluctantly she tore her mouth away from Sharon’s breast, balancing on her knees, yanking her sweatshirt over her head and tossing it to one side.

Sharon’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared as she gazed at Brenda’s bare chest, pulling her down to greedily take one rosebud nipple in her mouth. Exquisite pleasure shot through Brenda and she bit down hard on her own knuckle as Sharon worked at the taut bud with her tongue. Her breath was coming faster now and Brenda couldn’t determine who was making the keening noise as her hands slid easily under Sharon’s satin slip that somehow had managed to ride up to the brunette’s waist. Brenda traced her finger where the wisp of Sharon’s panties lay under the swell of her belly and felt the Captain shiver and clench beneath her.

Sharon suddenly shot up, her nails digging into Brenda’s arms hard enough to make Brenda wince.

“Jesus Christ FUCK ,” Sharon jerked her leg upward nearly kneeing Brenda in the face.

“Whaaa….Sharon, what’s wrong? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“Goddamnit, your cat just scratched me.” Sharon raked her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her face and leaned over to examine her ankle. 

Brenda peeked over her shoulder and there was indeed a nasty scratch from Sharon’s ankle bone to her calf, shallow, but rilled with a thin trickle of blood.

From under the couch a paw emerged, claws extended, swiping back and forth.

“NO NO BAD KITTY,” Brenda exclaimed and batted at the paw, half falling off the sofa trying to catch hold of the offending animal. All she got for her trouble was a long scratch down her arm and an earful of an offending wail.

“Apparently you can add making out on my couch like a couple of teenagers to the list of things that upsets your cat,” Sharon said drily.

“BAD KITTY,” Brenda reiterated toward the bottom of the couch before sitting up. She scooped her sweatshirt from where it had fallen on the floor and held it against Sharon’s leg.

"Brenda," Sharon stilled the blonde's hand. "You're getting blood all over your top."

"What do I care?" Brenda continued blotting the shirt against Sharon's calf, "it was a ridiculous slogan anyway. 'Atlanta, what's the world comin' to’? How many mid-level marketing managers approved that? The wonders of bureaucracy I swear....."

She would have kept talking but Sharon captured her lips in a lingering kiss, effectively cutting off Brenda's remaining opinions on the branding of her home State.

"I am sorry about Kitty," Brenda said softly when Sharon finally released her lips.

"So you've already named her," Sharon smiled, "She is your cat."

"He," Brenda corrected and Kitty is not a name. It's just short for NoNoBadKitty."

Sharon laughed, shrugging out of her robe.

“No, Brenda, it's a name. You're stuck with her now. Here, put this on." Sharon commanded.

Brenda looked down, suddenly aware that she was indeed naked from the waist up and she blushed for the third time that evening, suddenly feeling very exposed. She took Sharon's proffered robe, draping it over her shoulders.

There was a rustling at their feet and they looked down as Kitty slunk out from under the couch and sat on her haunches, cleaning her front paw.

In one swift movement Sharon scooped up the cat and deposited it in her lap.

For a moment Kitty flattened her ears back and hissed but as Sharon gently stroked her ears and her back she gradually relaxed, stilling the lashing of her tail, a rumbling purr starting somewhere low in her chest.

Brenda watched fascinated as Sharon’s hands stroked and petted and smoothed the kitten in her lap, imagining what those hand would feel like against the open expanse of her skin.

The cat rolled over on her back.

“See,” Sharon raised her eyebrows, “she’s not half bad.”

“He is kind of cute,” Brenda agreed grudgingly and then her face brightened, her expression suddenly sly, “Sharon I don’t suppose you’d like a cat? I mean look at him. I think that’s the happiest I’ve seen him.”

Sharon looked down at the purring feline in her lap and then back at Brenda.

“Absolutely not,” she said emphatically, “When tomorrow comes you can plop your cat back in its sack and cart it right on over to your new house.”

Brenda’s shoulders sagged.

“But I’ll be happy to come and visit,” Sharon finished with a smile, “both of you. I might even bring treats.”

“For me or the cat?”

“Perhaps both of you,” Sharon replied saucily. “If you play your cards right.”

“In the meantime I suppose we should get some sleep,” Brenda said, her eyes brightening at the idea of the possibility of being invited into Sharon’s bed.

“Absolutely,” Sharon replied, “I have a lovely guest room where I’m sure you and Kitty will be very comfortable.”

Brenda sighed and lifted the sleepy cat, pulling the warm, furry body close to her chest. 

“Sharon…,” Brenda flashed the Captain her widest smile, “I don’t suppose you have a laundry room?”


End file.
